|the boy who flew
||[Jul. 29th, 2013|05:40 pm]
icarus, icarus, who are you?|
you flew too high but i was only there for the view.
you flew too high but i was only there for you.
the boy who flew and I was ill equipped to talk you down.
your face in the sun i could not escape through the sound
of the air parting as your limbs turned to wings
and you shed all the words that caught you to me.
and i will wait
like every rose poised to bloom
a woman who dreams each day until it comes true.
(blarg. I need a piano!)
||[Jan. 3rd, 2012|04:38 pm]
I had a random burst of semi-inspired writing on my book, It's Not Easy Being Green, yesterday and just had an awesome idea for a new project this morning. So I thought I'd share and see if anyone would like to participate. |
The new project is called Love Letters to Myself, and it is hopefully going to turn into a book that is a collection of letters written to you, by you. As a person who revels in her wild and crazy interior life, sometimes I wish someone knew just what to say to me, or that I could even begin to share all the things I would like to with other people. Well, someone does know just what to say, and someone understands just what I'm going through. Me.
The same is probably true for many of you. You know what you need to hear, it's just hard to say it to yourself. And, for some reason, it's so darn difficult to take yourself seriously, or really listen to things when you're the one saying them. So whether you're in need of a good chiding, a pep talk, or just a bit of unbridled love and affection, go ahead. Write yourself a letter.
So am I inspired, or just bat shit crazy? The world may never know. But I do know that writing myself a love letter this morning was extremely refreshing, entirely different than blogging or writing for work, or even writing my novel.
It helps to think of it as if you were writing to a dear friend. After all, we really should be our own best friend. What would you tell her (or him, obviously) if he/she was in your position? I also usually go back and include a little background info in a paragraph or two at the beginning of the letter, including info about the time and circumstance surrounding the love letter to myself, but I don't write it until a little while after I write the letter, just for some distance.
In psychological terms this may be the closest I've gotten to the idea of "reparenting" myself. I have trouble addressing my inner child, but the love letters feel like a clearer discourse between my inner parent and my inner child than I've ever managed to get before.
Now to see if I can get any biggish names in self help land to jump on board, write themselves some love letters, and see if my collection amounts to anything.
Interested? Send me a message, email or some such. Let me know how you'd like to be involved, or just what you think about my latest random idea.
||[Jan. 1st, 2012|03:41 pm]
it doesn't feel like all my memories belong in the same body. like my past is less real and relevant to my present than a story i read. |
it seems impossible, to be where i am when you know where i'm from. then there's the problem of reconciliation. all of it seems unsettlingly like a dream, as if i'm a ghost, or i'm a person visited by ghosts, and that's where my life comes from. just a random collection of pieces, dreams and lives gone by.
if i'd sneezed instead of coughing, i never would have met my husband. not exactly, but you get the point. i shudder to think what life would have been like without him. would i have ever learned to trust anybody? would i have kept imploding, my world getting smaller and angrier until something horrible happened?
it's a troubling train of though.
so, new year's. this year i will endeavor, in a more educated and intentional way, to be kind to myself. it's the hardest thing i've ever tried to do. but i understand now, that even when i'm mean to others, it's just because that's how i always treat myself. in fact, i never treat anyone else one-fifth as poorly as i treat myself. and i can be quite a bitch.
dear 2012, look after me and i'll look after you (to rip off a hot chip lyric directly).
||[Jul. 21st, 2011|09:59 pm]
for all the pain, sore feet, angry parent shit, crying, drama, stress and downright disrespect i've had to deal with this week ... this goofy little rock camp has worked its way into my heart. i hope these kids keep growing and improving. i hope they live full, beautiful lives. |
it's nice to know that there are people in the world who love their children enough to let them spend a week making music. i hope one day i'm one of them.
listening to bon iver, drinking vodka, finishing up work. not sure if i'm relieved or sad that tomorrow is friday.
must be time for bed. :)
|I'd like nothing more..
||[Jul. 21st, 2011|07:03 am]
.... than to stay home this morning watching bad Saved By The Bell reruns!!!|
Day FOUR of Murfreesboro Rock Camp is here! And it is ready to kick my butt. At least I'm getting a heck of a work out running after kids all day and hauling around equipment.
I can make it through til Sunday, right?
||[Jul. 13th, 2011|03:42 pm]
so, there do be lots going on. |
i took on a big ole mountain of a challenge and now am the director of a non-profit summer music rock camp. that's pretty bad ass. while i do think the camp will be fun and interesting, i do not think i will be taking on the same type of task in the future. i have to steel myself to work up the courage to make phone calls, and visiting places in person is worse.
i love the admin end of it though, and have interfaced with the parents easily. i had a co-director (aka doody head) who had to be fired a month ago, then i thought i had cancer (i don't, well, i probably don't any way...) which put me way out of sorts for two or three weeks, and now... here we are! camp is Monday, I'm scrambling to finish up stuff and collect another band manager, replace a band, and organize all this crap.
it will all be over, one way or another, in a week and a half. then i have a book to start outlining, a cool marketing project to do, a Web site i'd like to launch, oh and that whole thing where i'm married, own a home, and have to be a responsible flipping person or something.
at least there will be kitties to snuggle with, even if the camp sucks. i have this nasty habit of expecting perfection and being a bit of a nazi to myself if i don't think I'm doing well enough.
any way, back to making 1,000 phone calls and doing my normal job on top of all of it! i don't check in often enough in LJ land, but my silent readers are oh so very forgiving, that I think it will be ok.
oh, and if you know any band that wants to play for 25 kids on monday at 11 a.m..... lemme know. :P
|doodles for today
||[Jun. 13th, 2011|05:21 pm]
once i threw a kitchen sink|
and she was aimed, lord it was aim
principles and frozen leagues
lord he came, oh lord he came.
when smaller hands make token friends
my tears were dry before the end
i might not know how time moves swiftly and an age flies by
but there's a journeyman inside us all
you've only got to swing
i never felt the wagon wheel
til it was closing round my neck
and i have half a heart, she sings
slowly lowering her gun
what i want is light
we wove it tight and locked it up
when he whispers dark, 'amen.'
then i'll know, i'll know it's gone
your plum crush and filthy hips
wet the corner, she won't be hitting me today.
please take care with that piece. i cover stone with my lips
murmured blessings in disguise
lorenna let me
peter got tired on the anvil
we weren't ready for the storm
batten down those spider webs, love
it's wind is all
I lay bright veils of organdy
To cover what it feels
Wrap them light and hit the road
I’ll wander away from my heart for long
You shouldn’t be so scared
They’re never far away
A simple thought and you’ll be bare
Still I try to run
The love I wish I had for women, is the love I wish I gave myself.
Two spun thimbles a belated hallelujah
Evening tides to suffer past
I’d throw myself in to your ocean if you promise there’s no harbor master to bring me back
On my shelves I find myself putting away the pieces
They’re too much for you to bear.
Under my thumb I feel terror woven in your blood. Embrace.
You think I am your long adventure.
Why didn’t your momma say
If you can’t hold her still it wasn’t meant to be
|house of the rising sun
||[May. 6th, 2011|06:11 pm]
i feel like a would half open. |
therapy, they say, isn't always easy, and doesn't always feel so pleasant. today i simply could not make myself go into any more stores to put up flyers or hand out brochures for Rock Camp. no matter how much i love and believe in the project. I froze up and clammed up and generally became a prisoner of my panic.
of all the stupid shit. almost ten years later and doing a repetitive action i was forced to do as a young jehovah's witness beats me, at least for today.
my resolution is to do distribution in small pieces. I went out Thursday, now I went out Friday, I'll go back out again some places tomorrow... this would be fine, except for the fact that it needed to be done two weeks ago (not my fault it got delayed, I'm working with an idiot). And said idiot is out of town for the next five days.
A year ago I might have bit my lip and smothered my feelings of terror and made myself do it all in one setting.
Today, I took a break. Played a game for 10 minutes. Checked back in with myself, and ultimately decided any more might do some serious damage, or at least put me in a very unhealthy frame of mind that it would take days to figure out, possibly weeks to fix.
So which situation is better, is the question I suppose...
Is it better to get the job done, or better to look out for myself. Will I ever be able to do both at the same time?
my new gig is glorious, and insanely frustrating. i'm director of a summer music program for kids called Rock Camp. today it feels like i've inherited a sinking ship and a stupid cousin who keeps fouling things up.
guess we'll see. either way, it's killer resume fodder. i love the non profit sector, and would ideally work in it for a long time, as long as it isn't at a religious non-profit.
||[Apr. 28th, 2011|12:12 pm]
twenty-seven years old and only one person cares enough to check on me during tornadoes. |
what have i done wrong.
||[Apr. 16th, 2011|03:25 pm]
music kept me alive when I had no where else to turn. |
it preserved, nurtured and aided my soul.
when my life took everything from me, i found a pocket to hide some self in.
that is the only reason I am here.
so here's to music. the notes and words that keep it real.
such a strange journey i'm in the middle of. singing opera. married. writing. putting together some old pieces, letting go of the ones who need it, polishing up the new ones.
i am still fighting, but it is slowly turning in to loving. i'm still a prickly bundle of guilt and convoluted pride. but kind words occasionally get through now. i don't think that has ever happened before.
oh to mend all the fences and kiss all the wounds of yesterday. never, never. but forward i can try.
||most recent entries